


Recycled Dreams

by pourlevenin



Category: My Chemical Romance, Pencey Prep
Genre: Angst, Break up letter, Depression, Frank is sad, Frerard, Gerard tries helping him, It gets fluffy later, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-30 00:21:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6400033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pourlevenin/pseuds/pourlevenin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(wrote it down but tore it up/recycled dreams could never live up)<br/>-Pencey Prep//Heroine Slow</p><p>On Gerard's desk lies a letter, dark and unopened and dripping with venom. Though Frank almost couldn't leave him such a bitter collection of words, he had to make him understand. Frank feels terrible. He let himself get in too deep, and he's slowly asphyxiating from the guilt. He knows he should never have let Gerard get so close when he could give nothing in return. But he couldn't help himself, and now it's too late. Gerard loves him, and Frank can't let him do that. Not when he doesn't deserve it, and not when Gerard deserves better.</p><p>But Gerard doesn't want to let go. Not when he knows neither of them really want it to be over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. P.S. Don't Write

**Author's Note:**

> So I totally don't plan things before I write them so I guess this is your warning. I also really really suck at updates, but the school year is almost over (thank fucking god) so I'll be better than usual at updating at halfway decent intervals. Enjoy my first Frerard fic!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (wrote it down but tore it up/recycled dreams could never live up)  
> -Pencey Prep//Heroine Slow
> 
> On Gerard's desk lies a letter, dark and unopened and dripping with venom. Though Frank almost couldn't leave him such a bitter collection of words, he had to make him understand. Frank feels terrible. He let himself get in too deep, and he's slowly asphyxiating from the guilt. He knows he should never have let Gerard get so close when he could give nothing in return. But he couldn't help himself, and now it's too late. Gerard loves him, and Frank can't let him do that. Not when he doesn't deserve it, and not when Gerard deserves better.

_Gerard,_

_I am so sorry. I am so sorry I lied to you. I am so sorry I let you love me. I am so sorry I let you believe this could ever have worked. I am so sorry I can't change this._

_The truth is that I am not worth loving. That I am far from the person you think I am. The person that I should be. I am so much worse and for that I am so sorry. Honestly, had my life been any different, I might have been able to love you purely. But somewhere along the line I became something wrong, and that poisons every emotion and nothing I feel is right. I don't think I feel half of what I should feel. I don't love you like I could have. I'm so sorry._

_Don't feel sad though. I am more than sorry enough for the both of us; I am sorry enough to set most anything right. But not this. This is so intrinsically my fault. It's my fault that I can't be loved. It's my fault that there is nothing in me worth loving. It's my fault that I let you believe that there is something inside me other than waste and hatred. I am toxic. I am a bomb of decay and neglect, and if I let you love me any longer the guilt would make me explode. I'm just trying to keep you away from the aftermath._

_I was happy for a time, when I didn't realize just how fucking little I had to offer you. I kidded myself into believing that I wasn't as shitty a person as I am, and in extension, I led you to believe that I'm worth something. Forgive me, because I'm not. I was happy under the delusion of an equal exchange, but not anymore now that I realize how severe a deficit we were in. I could never give you half of what you gave me. I could never love you properly. Though I do care for you, very much, I cannot bring myself to say that I love you._

_How could I, when I have yet to love myself? People_   _say that; people say you cannot love, or others can't love you, if you don't love yourself first. It's a bullshit sentiment. They just want to guilt you into feeling okay about yourself, no matter how terrible you are in reality. I can't help but find the truth in it, though. When I look at you, it's like looking at the sun, only less painful. You take the hurt away from me. And I think I love you in those moments. But deep inside my mind I hear a voice that tells me I don't deserve to feel like that, and by no fucking means will I ever deserve to have someone else feel like that when they look at me. And after enough time, all I hear is that ugly fucking voice, and looking at you doesn't feel like the sun anymore. After enough time, it isn't a separate voice, but my own voice, and your eyes just feel like a cold cloudy day._

_And that's why I'm writing this to you. I would love to have the guts to look you in the eye and say that I don't love you. But I honestly don't know if that's any more of a truth than saying I do. Mostly I'm lost._

_So if you're reading this, I'm gone. I'm so sorry I left you. But not sorry enough, I suppose, or I would still be beside you and it would feel like summer. Please forget me. I'm not worth your tears. I have enough for the two of us, so don't waste your time on me. Don't wait up for me. Believe me when I say I'm not worth your time._

_I am so sorry._

_Frank_

With shaking hands, Frank signed his letter to Gerard. There wasn't much that he felt, other than fear. What few emotions he had felt in that past month he'd just poured onto the page, and although the words had come from deep within him, he couldn't help but to hold the completed paper at an arm's length. Its contents felt malicious, as if just touching the page would give him a stinging paper cut. 

And perhaps it would, just like everything else in his life that he dared to enjoy. Nothing he ever tried to do right ended up happily; it was as if the world was out to get him. He didn't believe in a higher power, but if there was any chance that a god existed, Frank was glad that he didn't involve himself with one who had given him such a shitty life. He stuffed the paper haphazardly into an envelope, sealing it with a piece of tape so he didn't have to lick it. It was to make the whole ordeal a little less personal, as if he hadn't just ripped his heart out and laid it down for Gerard to see, but it comforted Frank nonetheless to distance himself even a little bit. 

He wrote Gerard's name on the envelope and left it sitting innocently on the desk, its outward appearance doing nothing to betray its contents. Its plain outside was the same as any letter's, presenting a blank facade to cover its considerably darker insides. Frank quietly slid the drawer open and replaced Gerard's favorite black pen, then tucked the unused paper back on the stack, casting a glance at Gerard's sleeping figure as he stepped back.

Underneath the comforter, Gerard's form seemed perfectly tranquil; he had no idea what Frank had just written. And Frank felt terribly guilty for it. He knew how Gerard would react when he read that the person he loved felt the need to leave. But he felt even more guilty for letting the relationship reach such a stage in the first place, where Gerard was invested in it to the point where his heart would be broken by Frank's departure. In the end, a choice had to be made, and Frank had selected the only option he could see that didn't end in his metaphorical explosion.

Because he was a bomb; his body was a mess, and in his eyes he was protecting Gerard by taking him out of the blast radius when he was finally set off. Where there should be happiness and emotion, Frank had napalm. Where a heart should be, a fuse snaked through his chest. Each dry breath he drew into his lungs only wrecked them further; it seemed that the oxygen didn't reach his bloodstream, and instead some part of his throat filtered the air until only the toxins remained. Slowly, his blood—his life force—had been replaced by volatile fumes that circulated through every part of his being, the poison seeping into his cells until he felt as if he was the very embodiment of chemical instability. Just the slightest contact with the wrong substance would lead to a violent reaction, and he was doing his best to avoid such an eventuality.

In a way, leaving like this felt relieving; it would be a clean break. Frank had spelled everything out for Gerard, and it was on paper so there would be no screaming and pleading. They would still be in school together, but hopefully Gerard would have time enough to digest his words over the weekend. Frank really wanted him to understand and move on so they could both continue living their lives separately, Gerard as the aspiring artist and Frank as the living wreck. It would be as it should.

Not pausing to glance back, Frank slipped out of Gerard's cracked bedroom door, trying to ignore how the thought of Gerard waking up to a cold bed made his chest tighten. He always had to leave in the middle of the night; Gerard wouldn't notice anything wrong. He swallowed hard once he was out and sneaked a look back but only saw the white door faintly glowing in the moonlight filtering in through the hall window. He tried not to remember the times they had shared as he walked out the back door into the night.

-

Gerard slowly lowered his hands and sat down, his mind and heart racing. It felt like the walls of his room were folding in on him; this couldn't be, why would Frank leave him such a terrible letter? Frank was worth  _everything_ to Gerard, he had to know that. How could this be? It _couldn't_ be, he loved Frank, god, Gerard loved him so much. Maybe he'd been upset and didn't really mean it? Gerard thought over the night before but couldn't think of anything that might have made Frank break up with him. Gerard pushed the letter aside and put his head in his hands. His breath came in quick gasps and tears pricked at the edges of his vision, and he could feel his cheeks heating up in his distress. He tried holding it back for a moment before everything spilled over. Why would Frank do this to him?

Gerard couldn't understand Frank's reasoning. He knew why Frank _thought_ he had to do it—he'd read each and every word in the letter—but why hadn't he just talked to Gerard? For fuck's sake. He exhaled shakily and pressed his hands into his eyes, tipping his head back as if he could make all of his feelings fall back into his head. It didn't work, though. He stood up abruptly and swiped everything off his desk, then sat back down sullenly. Kicking forlornly at the wall, he picked at the corner of his desk, trying to ignore the anger rising in him. It wasn't right for him to be angry with Frank, but he was. If he had just _talked_ to Gerard about this— Gerard stood again, his hands clenched into fists.

Checking the clock, Gerard saw that it was just past eleven. He wiped his eyes and kicked his bed, wincing a little because he wasn't wearing any shoes and the impact hurt. The first thing he did on weekend was get broken up with. Jesus fuck, his life sucked.

He paced around his room for a little while, crying and bargaining with no one in particular, trying not to text Frank. An hour later he found himself flopped on his back on his bed, his head hanging down and the last of his tears trickling out of the sides of his puffy eyes, phone clutched in his left hand. His mom was yelling at him from the kitchen to come down for lunch and Gerard groaned in response. He dragged himself out of bed and trudged down the hall to the bathroom, grumbling and wishing he could just sleep the day away.

He halfheartedly splashed cold water on his face and sat on the lid of the toilet for a few moments, hoping his face would stop looking like he'd spent the last hour crying his eyes out. While he waited he pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked it for messages. He'd already checked about five million times throughout the morning, and each time yielded the same result: no texts. Scrolling down the short contact list to Frank's number, Gerard bit his lip and hovered his thumbs over the keypad, trying to imagine what he could possibly say in response to Frank's letter. He closed the message, then opened a new one right away. 

Dropping his head back onto the wall, Gerard exhaled and looked up at the ceiling. It wasn't like he'd never called Frank after an argument before. It was just that this was just so much _more_ than he was used to; Gerard had never been left a fucking  _letter,_ detailing everything wrong with what he'd thought was a perfect relationship. He laughed morosely and looked back down at the phone. If he didn't do this now, he would never be able to fix things, right?

Gerard selected Frank's contact, ignoring his mom's voice as he listened to the phone ring. Breath held, he waited tensely for Frank to pick up, but with each passing ring he realized he'd been stupid to even try. When he heard Frank's voice telling him cheerily to leave a message after the beep, he slid the phone closed and shoved it into the waistband of his pajama pants. He stood in front of the mirror for a moment before deciding he looked like shit and there was nothing he could do about it except get dressed and hope his mom didn't ask him what the problem was.

When he got downstairs about twenty minutes later, his face had calmed down a little bit and it mostly looked like he'd just woken up from a long nap. He grabbed some coffee and slumped over at the table, sipping quietly as he and his parents waited for Mikey to come down. 

After lunch, Gerard went directly back into his room and tried calling Frank again. The entire time he had spent eating the sandwich his mom had made, he'd been turning the situation over and over in his head. It just didn't seem right that Frank should cut things off without hearing Gerard's side of the story, so here he sat, waiting anxiously for Frank's voice to greet him. Unsurprisingly, though, nobody picked up. Gerard tried a couple more times, getting the same result, before he gave up and fell back onto his bed.

"Mikey?" he called to the house in general. He waited for a few moments before rolling over so he faced the door, trying again more loudly. "Mikey!" As he waited for his brother's footsteps to reach his room, he typed out a quick text to Frank.

_pls call back i wnt to talk to u frankie_

"What?" Mikey stood in his doorway, his tall frame blocking the light filtering in from the hall windows so Gerard's room became mostly shadow.

"Can you try calling Frank for me?"

"Um, no? He's your boyfriend." Mikey stepped inside and sat on the bed at Gerard's feet. Gerard had hoped Mikey would comply without asking questions, but it seemed that was too much to ask. Talk about a shitty day. Not only did he wake up to a break-up letter, but he had to explain the pathetic details to his younger brother. Still, he tried to avoid such a situation.

"Just try, all you have to do is press a button," Gerard grumbled. He curled up so he didn't have to look at Mikey's stupid curious face. Fucking hell, Mikey called people all the time. Why couldn't he just do this for Gerard?

Mikey tapped out a rhythm on Gerard's back until he uncurled. "Look, if you're having relationship issues, talk to him yourself. I'm not going to be a middle man." He walked over to sift through the pile of CDs on Gerard's desk. "I mean, if you want to vent I'll listen, but—" he broke off. "Oh," he said quietly. Gerard heard papers rustling and groaned, remembering how he'd left Frank's letter open on his desk. Mikey set down the CD he'd been about to put in the player and walked over, letter in hand. When he sat back down he didn't say anything, just put a hand on Gerard's back as a few more tears leaked out.

"He isn't picking up his phone," Gerard said in a small voice. He sat up and pressed his palms into his eyes. A few moments later he took a shaky breath and exhaled slowly, trying to pull himself together. Mikey had set the paper down on the bed and it seemed to glower up at Gerard, shooting poisonous darts at him each time he caught sight of it. How could Frank had left him such a terrible thing?

Mikey traced out what felt like a battle scene on Gerard's back, humming Iron Maiden softly as he waited for Gerard to start feeling pulled-together enough to talk. Gerard was grateful that Mikey knew him well enough not to pry. He always talked when he was ready; he just needed to be given time to gather his thoughts. Finally, Gerard licked his lips and looked at the ground by Mikey's feet.

"Do you think he means it?"

The silence stood thickly between them for a moment, and Gerard could feel Mikey's decision-making process: did he tell the truth, or lie to make Gerard feel better? When he spoke, his words were measured and slow.

"I think he means that he feels like he doesn't deserve your love, but I don't think he really wants it to end."

"So what do I _do?"_  Gerard buried his head in his hands.

Biting his lip, Mikey 'hmm'd for a moment. "Well, this is kinda heavy stuff," he began. Gerard scoffed. Yeah, it was fucking  _leaden._ "Maybe give it a day or so to see if he starts thinking clearly?" He shrugged a little. "I wouldn't really know," he said apologetically. "Maybe I could have Pete come over? He's pretty good at advice."

Gerard shook his head. Pete was friendly, but a little hyperactive. Gerard didn't need him bouncing off the walls when his relationship lay in shambles at his feet. "I'll just wait it out, I guess," he mumbled noncommittally. He kicked at the carpet, silently willing Mikey to leave him to rot in peace. Apparently he got the message, because he patted Gerard's shoulder and walked out a moment later.

Once Mikey was gone, Gerard reread the letter and tried calling Frank again. Nobody picked up and his earlier message remained unanswered. He didn't know what he'd expected. He put on a Misfits CD and drowned out the rest of the day until Mikey came and got him for dinner.

-

The next day, Gerard woke up at noon feeling like shit. He'd spent the night alternating between feeling miserable about Frank and trying to sleep, the latter being interrupted each time without fail by the former. Needless to say, he was tired as fuck and still torn up by Frank's letter. He rolled halfway off the bed, reaching across the floor to fish his phone out of his the pocket of the previous day's jeans. He'd made a point of throwing them as far away as possible so he wouldn't be tempted to call Frank again, so by the time he'd grabbed them only his left calf remained on the bed. He lay on the floor, one arm trapped awkwardly under his torso as he turned on his phone.

Gerard's heart soared as he saw the notification for a new message, and in his rush to open it he accidentally pressed the wrong button and launched the web browser instead. Frustrated, he punched the home button and opened the new message, gritting his teeth against the urge to just click around wildly until it opened. His pulse sped up as he opened it—it was from Frank!

He was practically falling over himself as he started to read it. The possibilities racing through his mind blurred his vision, and he had to reread it a few times before reality won over the various fantasies he'd created in the time it took to load.

_G, im srry i cnt call u. all i could say i wrote dwn for u. im sorry._

Gerard thunked his head against the carpet, a dullness falling over his senses. He'd been stupid to think that Frank would want to talk things over. Gerard threw his phone at the wall, trying not to wince as heard the solid thunk of its impact. It just wasn't fair of Frank to refuse to let Gerard get a single word in; relationships involved two people. Frank should have spoken to Gerard the moment he started feeling differently. Gerard dragged himself up and dug around in his desk until his fingers bumped into a pack of cigarettes. 

He chain smoked out the window for a while, brooding and wishing things were different. The weather seemed to mock him. Of fucking course the world would decide get its shit together the second Gerard was too miserable to actually enjoy it. He didn't get out much in the first place, but Frank forced him outside once in a while to go to the beach in the middle of the night or something equally as ridiculous. And then he was thinking about Frank again. 

Gerard huffed out some smoke and put his cigarette out on the brick outside his window, digging it into the stone viciously until his own fingers scraped against it. Flicking the butt into the garden underneath, Gerard stomped over to the pile of clothes on the floor, grabbed the first pair of jeans he saw, and tugged them on. He threw on a hoodie and pulled on his converse, sticking the smokes in the front pocket. He shoved some paper and a pen in as well, grabbing his phone too after a moment of hesitation.

He walked quickly down to the front door, shouting, "I'm going out," just as it shut behind him. He didn't want to explain to his parents where he was going, who he was going with, when he would be back, or what he was going to do. He hardly knew the answers himself, and the last thing he felt like doing was spinning a bullshit story when he just wanted to sulk.

Stalking down the street with his head down, Gerard glared sullenly at the bright flowers and lazy wasps. The heady scent of his neighbors' gardens seemed to creep up his nose like chloroform, trying to knock out the rebellious part of him that wanted the world to go back to the misery of winter. Gerard cursed. He didn't fucking  _want_ to enjoy spring. He wanted to feel miserable without feeling guilty about it. 

He kicked at some new growth and turned down a path leading to the lake, hoping to find tranquility in some secluded area by the shore. After a little searching, he found a small clearing in a patch of bushes not connected to any path and settled in among them, trying to ignore the thought of all the bugs that could crawl into his shirt. For a little while, he just sat and plucked leaves off of the bushes, dropping them into a little pile by his left foot. The mindlessness of the task was comforting; he could focus on it without having to actually dedicate any effort, and it was enough to keep thoughts of Frank off his mind.

The mind-numbing effects didn't last very long though. Once he had stripped the nearest branch of its leaves he started to get broody again, and he picked up the leaves and started shredding them until his shoes were covered in bits of green. That didn't help him much either though, so he sighed and sat back, tapping his toes in no particular rhythm until he caved and pulled out the paper.

It was what he had really come here for; to write his own letter to Frank. Because if Frank wasn't going to let him verbalize his views over the phone, he was at least going to  _try_ to make him understand. There was no guarantee that he would read the letter once Gerard gave it to him, but he knew Frank well enough to have reason to believe his words wouldn't go ignored, and it wasn't as easy to ignore a letter as it was to delete a text message. So, safely nestled underneath the bushes, Gerard clicked open his favorite pen and began to lay out his heart for Frank to see.

 


	2. Fooled Myself Again

Gerard stood nervously on Frank's doorstep, fidgeting with the letter he held in his hands. The blue lined paper was creased and the ink had smudged in a few places where the sweat from his hands had rubbed on it as he folded and unfolded it. He kept his head bowed and strands of unwashed hair fell in front of his eyes, blocking his peripheral vision. As he waited for someone to answer, he tapped his toe inside his shoe at a quick tempo, trying to dispel some of his tension.

He could hear footsteps approaching the door from inside and he had to restrain himself from peeking into the window to see if it was Frank. The lock clicked back and the door squeaked a little as it was pulled open. Gerard could see Frank's shoes from behind the hair blocking his vision and his heart soared.

When he looked up and caught sight of Frank's face, though, it fell to the ground again. Though he had obviously been crying, the overwhelming emotion was defeat. His eyes had dark bags beneath them as if he hadn't slept all weekend, his hair had reached a state similar to Gerard's, and his lips were chapped and swollen from being chewed on. He didn't even say anything to Gerard, just looked up at him with red eyes and waited for him to speak first.

Caught off guard, Gerard stumbled over himself for a second before he got any words out. "Ah, um." He glanced around. "Frank—" Gerard suddenly remembered the letter, a corner of which he was currently twisting in his fist. He shoved it out. "Here. I just. I don't want you to believe that... That what you wrote—that all of it's true. And you weren't picking up your phone or responding to me, and I just want you to know that, that—" Gerard could feel tears pricking at his eyes again and he tipped his head back, still holding out the letter. "God, Frankie, I just love you so much, and I don't—I don't want you to go," he choked out. A few tears leaked out and he took in a deep breath, trying not to break down in front of Frank. 

Slowly, Frank shuffled forwards and grabbed Gerard's outstretched wrist. For a moment he just stood there, his fingers resting gently on Gerard's skin. The contact was cold; Frank's fingers felt dead and slightly clammy despite the early spring heat. Gerard looked down, trying to meet Frank's averted eyes to see what he was thinking, but his face revealed nothing. Then he pushed his arm down and walked back in the house, shutting the door behind him. Gerard stood on the porch, shocked and disappointed. He hadn't expected Frank to just downright refuse to let him communicate.

He ran a hand through his hair and stood for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. Wiping tears off his cheeks, Gerard walked down the steps and down the street before plopping down on one of Frank's neighbor's benches and calling Mikey.

The phone rang twice before his brother answered. "What's up, Gee?" he asked. Gerard could hear music filling his silence. After a moment of no response, Mikey turned it down. "Gee?"

Gerard huffed out a breath. "Yeah, Mikey, I'm here. Look, things with Frank are..." He kicked the dirt. "Not good." He sniffed a little, trying not to be obvious about it.

"I'm sorry." Gerard could hear the question hanging off of Mikey's statement: 'what do you want me to do about it?'

"Look, I'm not really sure what to do here. I don't know..." he trailed off. He knew Mikey wouldn't have any solutions either, but he didn't know who else to call. "I don't know," he said again. 

"Well, what did you try doing already?"

"I wrote him a letter back, and I took it to his fucking house to give to him in person and he just—I don't fucking get it, Mikey, he didn't say a fucking thing! He just went back inside after a minute of me talking and trying to hand it to him!" Gerard could feel anger bubbling up underneath his skin, which just annoyed him. He didn't  _want_ to be mad with Frank, but he wasn't fucking letting him do anything. It didn't seem fair.

Mikey didn't say anything for a moment. "I'm really sorry about that," he finally said. "Are you sure you don't want me to call Pete or have him come over?"

Gerard sighed. "Yes, I'm sure." He slouched down and crumpled up the letter, throwing it to the ground. "Whatever. Thanks anyways." He hung up and picked the paper back up, trekking back up the street to Frank's house.

He rung the doorbell, but nobody answered. He spent about five minutes crossing and uncrossing his arms before he just threw the letter down at the doorstep and stalked off again back to his own house. Fine. If Frank wanted to play that game, then Gerard could too. See how he liked getting a fucking letter dumped on him. Not that he'd even read it. Gerard scoffed and tucked his chin into his chest as he turned down his own street.

If all else failed, they shared three classes, and tomorrow was Monday. It wasn't as if Frank would drop out of school to avoid Gerard.

-

Frank watched Gerard's hunched figure walk frustratedly down the street. He didn't quite know what to make of his visit. In all honesty, he hadn't expected Gerard to even try texting him. The words in his letter had felt so absolute and indisputable. What could Gerard possibly have found in them to justify trying to salvage their relationship? He almost didn't want to go out to the porch and open Gerard's letter. Almost. 

Once he was certain that Gerard was long gone, he quickly opened the door and grabbed the crumpled ball off of the mat, slinking inside and up to his room before he really looked at it.

Unlike Frank's letter, Gerard's felt genuine. No smooth exterior lied about what was inside. There was nothing to hide behind the wrinkled edges and smudged ink. The torn edges spoke clearly of Gerard's intent and emotions. It seemed honest. It wasn't masquerading as anything other than what it was. It was a cry for understanding, for love, for explanation. Frank felt that he owed Gerard at least this much. With shaking hands, he unfolded the notebook paper and smoothed it out as best he could and began to read.

_Frank,_

_I'm sorry you feel that way. I had no idea and I wish you had felt like you could talk to me about it instead of running from me. I just want you to know that this doesn't change how I feel about you._

_You deserve every ounce of love I ever gave you—that I'm still giving you. Even if you don't feel like you're the person you should be, I still love the person you are. Expectations change, Frankie. Let go of whatever it is that holds you back from being who you are now, rather than who you thought you would be three years ago. Who you are right here and right now is the person I love._

_And when I fell in love with you, I wasn't fooled by some facade. I saw you and I knew you and I knew that I loved you. You never did anything to hide from me who you are. I have seen each and every one of your flaws and I love them all. I love so much about you, Frankie, please don't feel like you're a loveless void. Love is so important. You and I both know that, but I think you need to realize it. You need to realize that you are_   _worth love._

_You've given me more than I ever asked for. You gave me a friend, you gave me love, you gave me something to be happy about. I'm never as happy as when I'm with you. And I can't help but to believe that, despite your misgivings, you're happy when you're with me. Just because you don't give me the exact same things I give you doesn't mean that I'm not getting enough. Our exchange is equal, not identical._

_Please just talk to me. I can't articulate everything in ink. I want to see you again. Please at least give me this. Give me a chance to hear you, and give yourself a chance to hear me. I don't think either of us truly want this to be over._

_If you want to talk about things, then come over tomorrow after school. You're always welcome. I hope you know that._

_Love,_

_Gerard_

Frank licked his lips, gazing uncertainly at the letter. He could feel tears pricking at his eyes again and he wiped at them roughly, dragging his sleeve across his face. He didn't know what to think. He didn't want to believe Gerard's words. He still felt as if he'd expired long ago, and that he was wrong to trick Gerard into believing there was anything clean about him.

He reread the letter, skating his fingers over the areas of smudged ink where Gerard had worried at the paper.  _Expectations change._ Frank bit his lip, feeling blood well up between his teeth where he'd pulled off a strip of skin earlier. He was an expired good; he was useless. He'd done nothing he'd set out to do.  _But if expectations change..._  

_No,_ Frank told himself.  _They haven't. I'm as useless now as I was yesterday. I'm still failing to live up to the same standards._ He ran a hand through his hair.  _But if those standards have changed..._

Frank stood up, throwing the paper aside. He'd done what he owed Gerard; he'd read his stupid letter, and now they were even. They could get on with their miserable lives now, fucking great. Everything was fine! Frank paced over to the window and hung his head out, trying to get some clarity. Why couldn't Gerard have just let him rot in peace? He thunked his head up against the open edge of the window. Gerard's stupid fucking letter. Was it so hard to understand that Frank wasn't worth his effort? He was nothing to nobody.

_Expectations change..._

_No,_ Frank repeated. He hung his head and grabbed at his hair, squeezing his eyes shut. "No," he whispered.

He walked to his phone numbly and tapped out a message to Gerard.

_i read ur letter_

He hit send before he could overthink the situation and then flopped down onto the floor in the middle of a pile of dirty laundry. He reached halfheartedly at a pair of jeans, hoping there might be a pack of cigarettes in one of the pockets but came up empty-handed. He barely had time to wish he'd thought to take some of his mom's vodka before starting this whole fiasco when his phone beeped.

_will u talk to me tmrw??_

Frank didn't let himself think before he tapped out ' _maybe'_ and hit send.

Right away, he wished he'd just left Gerard's letter on the doorstep. It had barely been twenty-four hours since Gerard had first read his letter—the letter Frank had poured his fucking  _soul_ into, goddammit—and now he was undoing everything he'd tried to accomplish with it. For someone who wanted to avoid their metaphorical explosion, Frank ran into a lot of potentially disastrous situations. Frank groaned but decided there wasn't anything to do about it now. At least he hadn't committed to anything. 'Maybe' was pretty open-ended.

Frank rolled over and wrinkled his nose as he got a face-full of unwashed jeans. He couldn't be bothered to do a load of laundry, even though it had been at least two weeks since he'd washed anything. He was too busy wallowing in self-pity. _Fuck_ _,_ he was stupid. He should have just let it be.

-

Gerard sat on a couch in the basement with Mikey and Pete, watching them play _Call of Duty_. Even though he'd told Mikey he didn't want Pete's help, he'd come home to find him digging around their pantry anyways. Gerard wasn't too bothered, though. He'd just made some progress on the Frank situation, so he was feeling marginally less shitty than he had been the rest of the weekend and felt like he could tolerate Pete's presence for a bit before he got annoying.

"Dude, what the  _fuck,_ man?" Pete kicked at Mikey's shin as his character went down in a blaze of, well—not glory, but lots of flames. Mikey smiled and his character ran forward, completing the mission. "That was so unnecessary!" He threw down the controller and reached across Gerard's lap to reach the bowl of chips, grabbing a handful and eating them in that position, sprawled across Gerard's legs.

Mikey turned off the console and grabbed Pete's arm, pulling him off of his brother. Gerard threw a grateful look in Mikey's direction and grabbed a few chips himself, nibbling on them a bit. He could feel Mikey's gaze locked on his face, his mind working to make sense of Gerard's turnaround from his earlier state. Not wanting to get in a conversation about it, Gerard just twitched his eyebrows in what he hoped came across as affirmative and looked away. He was never quite as good at the nonverbal thing as Mikey, but he could usually interpret it just fine. He caught Mikey's small nod and let out a breath of relief.

"It was so necessary. Did you see those flames? You can just call yourself a martyr or some shit." Mikey rolled his eyes at Gerard. Pete always ate that shit up; dying nobly or acting all morally superior. 

Pete huffed. "Yeah, well, whatever. Do you guys have any beer?" 

Gerard scoffed. "I wish." He hadn't meant for Pete to hear, but he did anyways. He turned and looked at Gerard curiously.

"Rough weekend?" he asked, grabbing some more chips.

Unwilling to discuss it with Pete, Gerard crossed his arms and glared out the window. "Whatever. Just tired." Gerard knew that Pete knew it was a lie, but he didn't care. Hopefully he'd get that Gerard just wanted him to fuck off. But Pete either didn't care or just didn't have any regard for Gerard's boundaries, so he scooted closer.

"Really? Because Mikey told me—"

Gerard threw a scathing glare at Mikey, because what the fuck? He wished he could fire acid out of his eyes, because he would totally be melting Mikey right now. He filed that under 'future art projects' before speaking. "Seriously, Mikey?."

"What? You weren't gonna tell him, and I think he could help you." He shrugged and pulled out his phone, tapping away innocently. "Just talk about it, Jesus." 

Gerard stared determinedly at the blank TV screen. He tried to ignore Pete practically breathing down his neck, but it was too much. He shoved Pete away and sighed dramatically.  _"Fine._ Frank's trying to break up with me. I think."

"Yeah, I heard. Bummer." Gerard rolled his eyes. Sure, great advice, Mikey. Thanks so much. "Why do you say 'I think'? Breaking up with someone is a pretty obvious thing."

Throwing his hands up, Gerard turned away from Pete. "I don't know. Because he acts like he doesn't really want it to end? He's responding to my messages again."

Pete hummed for a moment. "Well, Mikey kinda already told me all the details," he admitted. He at least had the grace to look a little guilty at that. "And I think the best thing is to keep trying. Like, he keeps turning you away because he feels like he has to because he's 'not good enough', right?" He put air quotes around the last bit. "But maybe he wants you to continue trying to get him to stay with you. You know, so he feels wanted." Pete shrugged. "That's my take on it. Like, if you give up on him, he'll think that it just proves his letter."

Gerard nodded reluctantly. Pete did seem to actually have a point. "I suppose so." He kept his arms crossed, clearly signalling that he didn't want Pete to impart any more wisdom. He was still kind of pissed about Mikey blabbing about his relationship problems, and made a point of throwing another glare in his direction. Mikey had a pleased arch to his eyebrows that Gerard wanted to erase completely. "Go fuck off somewhere else now."

Mikey and Pete grabbed the chip bowl and clambered up the stairs, Pete going on about his band's latest practice. Gerard tuned him out and pulled his phone out, rereading Frank's texts. He really hadn't expected him to respond at all, but he wasn't complaining. The least he'd hoped was that they might make eye contact at school the next day'; this was so much more than he'd imagined. He really hoped Frank believed him when he said he loved him. It hurt to watch him suffer like this and not be let in.

-

Gerard woke up to his alarm screaming in his ear and took a moment to lie in misery before he got up and shut it off. As he stumbled over a pair of jeans he'd left on his floor, he let himself fall to the ground and lay on the relative comfort of carpet. It was horizontal and kind of soft, and that was enough to convince Gerard that it was good enough for sleep. Forty minutes later, Mikey barged in holding two cups of coffee.

"Hate to break it to you but we're already pretty much late, so..." he trailed off and sat on Gerard's bed, poking his stomach with his toes. 

Gerard groaned and rolled over, self-conscious of his stomach. He wasn't exactly a stick like Mikey. He caught sight of the clock and groaned again. School was going to start in ten minutes. "Fuck it, let's just check in for second period." He grabbed the shirt he'd been laying on and pulled it over his head, taking a mug of coffee from Mikey gratefully. Mikey agreed and then left Gerard alone. Gerard drank the coffee, put on some jeans, and walked downstairs. 

They still had about forty minutes before they had to actually go anywhere, so Gerard made himself another cup of coffee and put on one of Mikey's Blur CDs. He kept feeling anxious about the school day: how would Frank react to seeing him again? Would he look any better than he had yesterday? Most importantly, was he actually going to talk to him after the day was over? He tapped nervously on the side of the coffee cup, out of time with the music playing.

Mikey stared at him in annoyance. "Dude, stop that. Just text him." 

Gerard didn't ask how he knew what he was anxious about; he figured it was a mixture of Mikey's psychic powers and the fact that Frank was the source of all of his problems in life right then. He still tried to get out of it, though. "He's in class," he argued weakly.

Mikey scoffed. "Yeah, that totally stopped you from texting him all day before all of this."

"Shut up. I just... I don't want to push it." 

"Sure."

Gerard rolled his eyes, thinking about what Pete had told him the day before. It was hard to judge if he was pushing Frank too far or just making sure he knew he was wanted. When Frank didn't give him any cues, how was he supposed to know what his next action should be? He had sent him a couple of texts last night, each time not getting any response. It seemed counterproductive to try to cure Frank's fear of rejection by making Gerard get rejected over and over. Still, he decided to take one for the team—well, maybe not the team, but Frank—and try texting him again.

_r u doing ok?_

It seemed kind of pathetic, but Gerard had never been a strong texter in the first place. It was the sentiment that counted, anyways. He decided to ignore Frank's silence and act as though it was normal day.

_i fell alseep aftr my alarm wnt off so ill chck in for 2nd per_

Second period was Physics, which he and Frank shared. Even if he didn't get a response out of Frank, he'd be gently reminding him that he'd  _have_ to acknowledge Gerard's presence soon enough. Surprisingly, Frank did reply, albeit briefly.

_ok_

It really wasn't much, but Gerard was just glad Frank wasn't giving him the same silence he had on Saturday.

By then they really had to go, so Gerard poked Mikey, who was buried in his phone. "You ready?"

Mikey nodded without looking up. "Did you text Frank?" He grabbed his bag and started to walk away.

Gerard grabbed his own bag and ran a little to catch up, sliding into the driver's seat once they reached the car. "Yeah. He just said 'ok' back. I don't know if I should be glad he's responding or annoyed that that's all he said." He turned the key and started backing out, trying not to hit the mailbox. Even if he was distracted by Frank's behavior, he didn't want his parents to kill him. As they drove off, he tossed Mikey a pack of cigarettes. "Could you light one for me?"

"Fine." Mikey rolled his eyes but grabbed Gerard's lighter anyways, handing him the cigarette once he'd got it lit. Gerard unrolled the window and tried not to get ash on his sleeves as he took a drag. The cherry burned brightly as he inhaled, and despite his efforts, the window blew ash directly into his eyes. Perfect start to the day. Gerard screwed up his face and pinched the cigarette between his lips, keeping one hand on the wheel as he tried to brush the ash from his eyes. When he regained his focus on the road, he swerved and narrowly missed hitting a mailbox.

He could feel Mikey raising his eyebrows at him but he just scowled and kept looking forwards. After a little while they pulled up to the school just before the bell signalling the class change rang. They grabbed their respective bags from the back seat and walked into the front office. Gerard hoped he didn't smell too much like smoke as he waited for the lady at the desk to check them in and hand them slips. He always felt self-conscious as he waited for people to do things; when he didn't have anything to occupy him, all he could think about was how long it had been since he'd showered. Or, if he had by some chance showered in the past few days, it was his weight; he'd never been a pixie, and he carried a few extra pounds with him. Whenever he was just standing around, he felt as if people were silently judging him.

It came as a relief when the bell rang and they got their tardy slips, and Gerard stepped out of the office as quickly as he could without seeming rude. He stopped by his locker and slipped into class just before the bell rang. He handed the slip to the teacher and slid into his seat. 

A quick glance at Frank's lab table showed him that Frank was there, but he didn't look any better than he had yesterday. The redness around his eyes had left, but in its wake was the dark purple of sleepless nights. His lips were badly chapped and he could see a little dried blood on the bottom one. Gerard felt sadness pang deep in his chest. He wished he could help Frank. He felt useless so far away; even though he was just a table away, it seemed like oceans separated them. He hated feeling like this.

As their teacher started talking about science shit, Gerard pulled out an old quiz and doodled a Zombie Frank on the back. It seemed fitting; Frank seemed dead on his feet. Why not make that image into something cooler? Gerard exaggerated the eye bags, then added a gash on one of his cheeks. Once he'd finished the sketch, he slumped forward in his seat. The two cups of coffee kept him awake, but they did nothing to ward off the boredom that inevitably dogged him throughout the day. He made sure the teacher wasn't watching, then pulled out his phone to send Frank a text. He paused once he had his thumb over his contact, though.

What could he possibly say? He couldn't just act like nothing had happened and start joking, but he also didn't want to keep bothering Frank about whether he was going to come over or not. There weren't very many options. Sighing, he settled for a simple  _'hi'_ and watched Frank to see if he got it.

He thought back to the week before, when he'd been in almost the exact same situation, except Frank had been talking to him normally. It was easy then, just texting in class about shit or complaining about the lesson. Gerard loved just hearing what Frank had to say. He was always full of opinions and ideas. This new version of him—quiet and sad and subdued—was a shock to deal with, like jumping into an unheated pool after having soaked in the hot tub for a while. Gerard thought about Frank's smile, how it curled his lips and lit up his eyes, and oh, god, Gerard fucking  _missed_ that. He missed it like fucking mad.

At the table in front of him, Frank pulled out his phone. He was seated with his back on the wall, facing the center of the room, so Gerard could see his face as he read the message. He had been hoping for a half-smile, or some change in expression when Frank saw it, but all he got was a glance in his direction. Not giving up, Gerard licked his lips and smiled softly at Frank. Frank stared at him a moment before looking back down at his phone.

Anxiety swirled in Gerard's stomach as he watched Frank type. He hadn't been able to read Frank's expression at all. Gerard started when his phone vibrated in his hand, then glanced furtively at the teacher before opening the message.

_im right here u kno just tlk to me in prsn_

Gerard rolled his eyes. Because Frank had been  _so_ _accommodating_ when Gerard had tried that this weekend. Besides, they were in class. Gerard threw a look that said 'what the fuck, dude' at Frank and responded.

_were in class soo i kinda cant do tht_

Frank didn't respond to that, just put his phone away and took notes. Like, actually  _took notes,_ what the fuck? Gerard threw a bit of paper at Frank, making another face at him and miming texting. Frank sighed and pulled out his phone again.

_whtevr i guess we cn tlk l8r_

Gerard put put down his phone and tried not to look too excited. Fucking finally, he was making actual progress! He pulled out some markers and started to color in his Zombie Frank. Maybe he'd put it in Frank's locker in between classes or something. He knew Frank wouldn't care that he had failed the quiz it was drawn on, and it would show Frank that he cared. By the time the bell rang he'd drawn an entire cemetery full of skeletons behind Frank, with a blood red sky behind him. He thought it was pretty good. He hoped Frank thought so, too.

He shoved his papers in his bag; he'd been caught off guard by the bell. He had wanted to catch Frank at the end of class, but he'd slipped out of the door right as the bell sounded, leaving Gerard fumbling with his papers and silently cursing him. Gerard ducked his head as he grabbed his books and started to walk slowly down the hall to his next class. He really didn't give a single shit about economics, but he needed the credit to graduate so he resisted the urge to cut class.

Gerard waited out third period by sketching himself as a brother-destroying, eye-acid-shooting superhero, then gathered up his books and headed towards English, which he shared with Frank. In which he sat _next to_ Frank. Gerard tried not to think too hard about how that would go down. Instead, he tried to focus on the present.

And right then, he was quickly approaching Ray and Bob. Gerard wasn't really looking forward to talking with them. Normally he, Frank, Ray, Bob, and sometimes Mikey and Pete would talk together for a few minutes before splitting off to their respective fourth period classes, and it was generally pretty enjoyable. But Ray and Bob didn't know about the Gerard and Frank situation yet. He didn't really want to explain it all over again.

Bob waved at him over the crowd, as if Gerard had had trouble spotting his blond hair and Ray's afro. Gerard reluctantly shoved through and joined them, noticing with some disgruntlement that Pete and Mikey were also with them. "Hey," he mumbled.

"Where's Frank?" Ray asked. Pete looked like he wanted to tell them all about it, but Gerard glared at him.

"Dunno," he said pointedly, wishing he really did have acid-shooting eyes so he could erase Mikey's half smile.

Mikey rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, Gee." He turned to Ray and Bob. "I mean, Gee doesn't really want to talk about it, but he and Frank are..." he trailed off as if he wasn't sure how to describe what the deal was. 

Pete jumped in. "Frank's having issues and he's trying to break up with Gerard," he supplied. Then he glanced guiltily at Gerard. "But, I mean... Yeah, Gerard doesn't like talking about it."

"No fucking kidding," Gerard hissed under his breath.

Meanwhile, Ray and Bob looked outraged. "What?!" Ray exclaimed. "Dude, I'm so sorry, that sucks serious ass, you guys are great together. Man..." He patted Gerard's shoulder, but he just shrugged it off.

"It's whatever, I think he's gonna talk to me about it after school, so."

Bob just shook his head. "I don't know what Iero was thinking, man, hopefully he comes around." Gerard nodded, appreciating Bob's less aggressive approach.

Gerard didn't feel like throwing a pity party, so he left early. "I'm gonna go to class," he said in a forced tone. "Try not to talk about me too much while I'm gone," he shot over his shoulder. He wasn't fooling anyone; they all knew they'd discuss it as soon as he was out of earshot. Still, it felt good to get the last word. He stomped for the first few steps away from them, then took on a normal pace once the crowd swallowed him from view.

He slid into his desk well before Frank arrived and took the chance to arrange his books and take out his Zombie Frank drawing. He decided he'd give it to Frank once he sat down and tried not to tear it up like he had his letter while he waited. Finally, Frank walked in, his eyes deliberately averted. When he sat down, his back was stiff and his hands wouldn't stop moving, tapping out random rhythms with his pencil or on his knee.

Leaning over, Gerard gently touched his arm. "Hey, Frank." He picked up the drawing. "I, uh. I drew this in physics and I thought. Well, I mean, you usually like to keep drawings of you, so I—I just thought, you know, you might want this?" As he spoke, Frank trained his gaze on Gerard's face, and his words quickly became less articulate. Frank's face didn't change as Gerard spoke, nor did he look at the paper Gerard held out.  _Great,_ Gerard thought.  _I definitely want a repeat of the letter incident._ "I mean..." Gerard didn't know what he meant. He just knew he never wanted Frank to look at him like that again, to look at him like he was  _lost_. Fuck, just looking at Frank made Gerard hurt.

He tried again. "Frankie..."

Frank swallowed and made a visible effort to shake himself out of his stupor. "No, I—I want it." He grabbed the paper and soaked in the details for a moment. "It's really good, thank you." He put it on the corner of his desk and admired it until the bell rang.

They couldn't talk for a while, since the English teacher was really strict about things like that, but once the class got started on the assignment Gerard turned to Frank. "So, um, I guess you're coming over after school?" He hated the apprehension he felt when speaking with Frank now; before it was so easy. How had one letter erased all of that? He chewed at his cuticles as he waited for Frank to answer.

"I guess, yeah." Frank pulled out the sketch Gerard had done of himself last period. "That's pretty cool. Are those Mikey and Pete?" he asked, pointing at the two mostly-melted figures at the mercy of Gerard's acid eyes.

Gerard nodded, grateful for the change in subject. "Yeah. They were being dicks yesterday."

Frank laughed, but it seemed kind of forced. "Sounds like them." The conversation petered out after that, and Gerard had to pretend to be interested in  _A Tale of Two Cities_ when the teacher walked by. Charles Dickens could go shove it, for all Gerard cared. He wrote down some bullshit about Sydney Carton being a crybaby, not bothering to quote any evidence. He drew a miniature Jerry Cruncher digging up empty graves and being sneaked up on by skeletons in the corner of his paper before he walked it up to the stack of completed work at the front. 

When he turned back, he saw Frank tucking the Zombie Frank drawing into an inner pocket of his bag, where Gerard knew he put things he wanted to be kept safe. He smiled to himself a little and pretended he hadn't seen when he sat back down. Maybe this would go more smoothly than he'd anticipated.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry about the Tale of Two Cities reference in there. I absolutely despise that book but if I had to suffer through it, you guys have to suffer through my references to it. I didn't read it for nothing.  
> Feedback is greatly appreciated!!


	3. You Were So Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm almost convinced that we never happened. (almost)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok this took approximately 27 years to post because a) school restarted and b) I started writing a script for a comic I'm working on. Sorry! Also I didn't originally plan on ending it here so sorry if it seems a little sloppy. I might end up revisiting/rewriting it later.

Gerard bounced his knee in the kitchen, sipping on his third cup of coffee since he'd come back from school. Frank still hadn't stopped by, and school had ended about forty-five minutes ago. He knew Frank had promised, but he wasn't sure how much that counted for when he was in this state. It used to be that Frank never broke a promise, but now Gerard didn't know whether to trust his word. He wasn't sure if he really even knew the real Frank anymore.

Mikey stood at the counter behind him, flipping through an old issue of  _Daredevil._ His homework was pushed out of the way so he had space to both read and drink coffee. He'd stopped pretending to care about school about a year ago and he was still going strong with the I-don't-give-a-single-fuck-about-any-of-this attitude. Gerard wished he could do the same, but college wasn't far off, and he did care about plenty of things.

Right now, though, he couldn't focus at all. Frank's absence hung over him like a dark cloud, and it felt like his heart was being slowly torn up. Unable to stand the tension any longer, Gerard stood up and started pacing. Mikey sighed exaggeratedly behind him but Gerard just ignored it. There wasn't much he could do at this point other than pace. He was about fifty percent caffeine and fifty percent anxiety; he had to move or he would explode.

Finally, just when Gerard was seriously considering pouring himself yet  _another_ cup of coffee, the doorbell rang. 

"Thank fucking god," Mikey breathed. "You were driving me insane." Gerard just shook his head and half-ran to the door.

When he opened it, Frank stood on the doorstep, hands clasped in front of him and shoulders hunched. He looked past Gerard, down the hall or perhaps just at the empty space beside his head. He licked his lips. "Uh, hi. Sorry I'm late, I just... Wasn't sure." He winced a bit at his weak excuse, but Gerard stepped aside and let him in without asking for further explanation.

"It's fine. D'you want soda or something? I'd offer you beer, but we ran out last week." Gerard looked through the fridge and pulled out a can of Coke, handing it to Frank. He grabbed one for himself and stood in the kitchen for a moment, unsure of where to go.

He knew he could take Frank up to his room without worrying about being interrupted. But Gerard worried that Frank might interpret that as Gerard asking for something other than just a conversation. The basement was definitely an option, but there wasn't any real security there; anybody could barge in on them and he felt that they both wanted privacy. In the end, he just shrugged and started walking up to his room, trying to ignore the awkward tension that fell between them once they were both seated on the bed.

Frank popped the tab on his soda and took a sip, still keeping his eyes trained on anything but Gerard's face. "So."

"So." Gerard nodded.

A few minutes of silence passed them by. When Gerard saw Frank surreptitiously check the alarm clock on the bedside table, he spoke again.

"Okay, so, I guess I said a lot of what I wanted to in my letter, which I guess you read." Frank nodded. "But I just wanted to say it again. Frank, I really really love you."

Frank dropped his gaze even further and Gerard felt his heart rend.

"Frankie," he said softly. "Please look at me. I'm not lying." Frank bit down on his lip and glanced up. Gerard scooted a little closer and took his hand, keeping their eyes locked. "I love you so fucking much and I'm not even exaggerating. You are so important to me. Can you please tell me where all of this is coming from?" He kept still as he watched Frank's mind work, which was a huge feat considering he was drinking another caffeinated beverage. Yeah, he kind of regretted that now that he was thinking clearly. Finally, Frank licked his lips and began to speak.

"I—it's just..." Gerard nodded encouragingly at him, understanding how difficult it was to put words together when it came to articulating feelings. "I don't know. I don't fucking _do_ anything with my life. I just... I just let shit happen to me, and I don't do anything about it. And it's like—Everybody has these ideas about what I should be doing, or what someone my age should be doing in general, and I'm not doing any of it. And it's not like I don't _want_ to do any of it, because if I could just fucking make myself care about any of this shit I would, but I just. I don't care, and I want to care, but I can't. And then I just internalize all of this shit about how I'm not good enough and then it just becomes a part of my personality, where nothing I do is enough and then everything about me just doesn't feel right and  I can't make myself do anything about because I don't fucking  _give a shit,_ and then you're so caring towards me and it's like... It's like, what did I ever do to deserve any of that? What have I ever done in my life to merit someone thinking I'm worth something? Why—"

Gerard cut him off. "Frank, stop. You're enough. I'm... I don't think..." He wasn't quite sure how to say what he was feeling. "Listen. I know that what you're saying isn't true, but I don't know how... I don't know how to say it any other way. I'm not a therapist. I don't know how to stop you thinking like this, and I don't think I should try. I think you should go see one. An actual therapist. And get a diagnosis. Because..." Man, he really didn't want to sound like an insensitive dick. "Ah, um, this is really unhealthy."

Frank stared up at him. "Yeah, you don't fucking say." He set down his Coke and brushed his hair back from his face. "I don't fucking know how to even bring any of this up to my mom," he moaned. "Fuck, I don't know anything." He ran his hand over his face. "Fuck."

"It's okay, Frank. If you wanted, I could talk to her. I mean, I know she doesn't know we're dating, but if I just pretend to be a concerned friend instead of a concerned  _boy_ friend it could work." 

Frank nodded a little. "Yeah, okay. That sounds like an okay idea. Just don't tell me when you're gonna do it, I don't want to get anxious leading up to it." His shoulders seemed to relax a bit, like the very idea of getting put on medication fixed some of his problems.

"Of course, Frankie."

Then Gerard got to the other reason he'd wanted to talk to Frank. Moving over so his knee bumped Frank's thigh, he squeezed his hand a little. "But in reality, which am I? Concerned friend, or... Or boyfriend?" He held his breath and watched Frank's face.

"I guess... I guess boyfriend." Frank looked down shyly and Gerard felt like flying. "I think it was just a really bad week when I decided to write that to you. I'm—I'm really sorry. It was kind of...brutal. I'm not in a really good place." He laughed a little and squeezed Gerard's hand. "But maybe just, like, take things a little easy on me for a bit? I don't want to be a dick, but..."

Gerard nodded quickly. "Yeah, no, I totally get it. It's fine." Not wanting to seem to forward, Gerard leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Frank. "It's completely fine." Then he leaned back and wrinkled his nose a little, because Frank had obviously not showered all weekend. His usually flowery-smelling hair was starting to remind Gerard of his own, and he felt guilty for a moment when he realized Frank dealt with his poor hygiene every day. "Um, maybe take a shower when you get home."

Scoffing, Frank launched back into the hug. "Shut up, you loser, don't preach to me about personal grooming when you shrivel up just  _looking_ at a bar of soap."

Gerard laughed and hugged tighter. "Yeah, well, I'm an artist so I can get away with it."

Sitting there, holding Frank and trying to ignore how between the two of them maybe three showers had taken place over the past week, Gerard felt happy. And he thought that Frank seemed at least a little better than he had when he'd walked in, which was saying a lot. Gerard decided to try talking to Frank's mom in a few days. He'd have to semi-script his part of the conversation and practice in front of the mirror, but he was up for the challenge if it was for Frank. Hell, he'd do almost anything for Frank. It was good to have him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also I know this is kind of a short chapter but I felt the story was pretty much over.. I think I might put out an epilogue one of these days. Until then I'll just mark this as complete.

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to Joy Division for getting me in character to write Frank's incredibly emo scene.


End file.
